Endlessly
by kayellin
Summary: WARNING: More of a dark fanfic. Bellamy/Clarke where they are in a "loveless" marriage and Clarke becomes pregnant. Review and tell me how you like it, I don't really write first person a lot so it would be nice to know if I'm completely screwing it up. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

I've never understood depression but up until recently, I've never had a reason to be depressed—not really, at least. I'm sure the death of a parent makes some people depressed but instead, I chose anger. It welled inside of me for months and I can't honestly say that I don't still harvest it. I'm also sure being sentenced to life on a dangerous planet with limited hopes of continuous survival might make some people depressed—actually, I know it makes some people depressed. I have watched the mania overtake multiple desperate adults that have lost too much and even witnessing the sight of their cold, limp bodies never triggered any sort of depression. But now I feel it clawing at my soul like an untamed animal that I should have trained a long time ago rather than sending it away.

I probably shouldn't use the word soul so loosely. I'm not even sure I have a soul anymore. The burning emptiness in my stomach that reached to my back all the way up my throat was proof that I was soulless. What type of person chooses to starve herself? What type of person chooses to starve their unborn child at hopes that it will die in her? That would be me…

A normal, sane person would naturally ask the question "Why?" because it is _such _a horrible thing to do. I will explain why, though, and maybe that person will understand. From the second I was locked up on the Ark, I knew that my life was over. I knew that I wasn't ever going to be the same person and that meant all the dreams of being married and living out the rest of my life in the metal box I once called home were shattered. The images of a little child running around and exploring the air ducts and being taught how to read a map by their grandfather were almost bittersweet. Almost—more often than not, they were painful fantasies of a life I would never have. A life that I no longer wanted due to the hardship of Earth. I didn't have the luxury of falling in love with someone and having a child—I still don't. From day one, it's been about survival.

And I have survived. I've faced too many trials where I had to make the ultimate sacrifice. Atom, being my first. Finn being my most recent. The infant growing in my womb being one to add to the list. Every day I watch people struggle to do as I'm doing and every day I see someone fail. Bliss and happiness is not something I deserve, I've accepted that so having a child that would bring _light _to this darkness that is eating me alive wouldn't be the right thing to do. Ironically, I couldn't let my child starve the way my people starve every single day of their life. I couldn't let my child fear an attack from unknown enemies. I couldn't lose my child to the harsh winter.

So why, that sane person asks, would I choose to abort my pregnancy in such a cruel manner? Because it's the only option I have. Call it love for the small being growing in me or call it something else—I don't care. I will not have a child only for it to suffer through life and lose it after I've grown emotionally attached which is something I'm already struggling with.

The next question that sane person would ask would be about the father. Couldn't he raise the child? It'd be a little odd to have my husband raise the child I never want to see—never want to hold, or kiss, or hear. I wouldn't say that I am in a loveless marriage, we love each other dearly but we aren't in love—well, he is not in love with me. There are days where the sun is shining just right and there aren't these unbearable, crushing problems on my plate where I catch a glimpse of his smile and I _die _of heart failure only to be revived by his heart quenching voice and there are days when everything is falling apart where in only seems _right _to find safety in his arms. But our marriage was just shy of a political move and an absolute mistake.

I'm constantly reminded of what a monumentally bad idea it was to marry my partner. How can I love anything—anyone if I can't love myself? Isn't that why he gave up on loving me in the first place? He gambled and he _lost. _I let him put his entre heart on the line for me for so long but someone had to lose to gain what we have now (a strong partnership) but somehow, I've never shaken the feeling that I lost more. Because the second I made it clear that we were married but we weren't _married _he moved on and there's nothing I can do about it because he has every _right _to move on. Hell, I'm under the impression that in some grounder cultures, he has the right to stone me to death and sometimes I wish he would just to take himself out of the misery of being married to me.

I've never told anyone the truth—not even in the beginning of our marriage when fire ran through my veins instead of this relentless ice. I love and will always uncontrollably, irrevocably, and immortally love Bellamy Blake. I'm not an idiot—I foresaw consequences but the consequences I foresaw weren't the ones I've faced. It's odd sleeping next to a person—sleeping with a person—that has other women in his life that occupy his mind and his time. How could I bring a baby into a marriage like that? A marriage where daddy's never home because he's off screwing some idiotic bimbo and her friend. How would I explain the way it breaks me apart when I'm alone and what would I do if my child ever asked him why I cry when he's not home? I suppose Bellamy belonged on the list of sacrifices somewhere.

The last question the sane person would ask me would be, "If you're starving your baby to death, then why are you eating?"

And I really don't have an answer for that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

I hugged my jacket to my body instinctively as Octavia ducked under the crude construction of a picnic area. "You look like you're fighting with your food." She commented as she sat across from me. I was highly aware of the small pouch on my stomach but no one else seemed to notice. I lowered my gaze to my berry and nut mixture and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I lied unsuccessfully but soon covered it up with something more reasonable, "I'm worried about rations."

"Don't you usually meet with Bellamy about these things?" Octavia said, confused. I released a sigh and scrunched my nose for a microsecond before looking back up at her. I wondered if Octavia was aware of how much she looked like _him. _The dangerous thought of what our child would look like swept through my mind and I had to bite my tongue to distract myself with something else.

"I haven't seen him around." I hated the way Octavia's eyes watered a little bit when I said things like that. It doesn't bother me as much as she likes to think he does that Bellamy is _unfaithful _if that's even the word to use. In my experience, he's an extremely reliable person just a shitty husband but I'm not exactly going for "Wife of the Year." There have been moments where I wanted to sleep with someone else just to take away the resentment I had for his easy actions. He didn't even try to be discreet about it. Why should he? All Bellamy and I really have is respect, a sign piece of paper, and occasional sex. If I didn't get to sport the hyphenated name Griffin-Blake then it'd be like meaningless sex between two people that needed it. "Please, don't." I begged her, sounded a lot more desperate than I intended. "I don't want to go there."

She sighed, "I love Bellamy, I really do but Clarke—this isn't right. He can't keep running around with whoever he wants whenever he wants."

"Yes he can." I argued for the seventh time this month, "Because he does not love me. We aren't together, we're just married because we weren't going to marry people we didn't care about. You know this better than anyone, you planned the wedding."

"You don't cheat on someone you care about." Octavia threw in her infamous line as if it were supposed to influence me to track him down and tell him that I wanted a _real _marriage. I couldn't do that to him.

"It's not really cheating, is it? He owes me nothing." I shoved berries into my mouth to imply that I was done talking about it. "I think I'm going to clean the apartment. I haven't clean in over a week and it's seriously starting to look wretched."

"Off to your wifely duties while your husband beds another woman." Sometimes Octavia could be as cold as I wanted to be. I furrowed my eyebrows once I turned away from her, mumbling a goodbye as I turned in the direction of _our home. _If I were being honest with myself, it was more of my apartment than the Griffin-Blake residence. Bellamy slept there when he needed to sleep, ate there when he didn't want his sister or other people bothering him, and kept all of his things in the small closet. Other than that, he was just a rumor in the walls of the apartment. Of course, I was a bit of a rumor too because I spent most of my time in the medical area attending to people's reckless wounds.

It was exceptionally rare that I would even be close to my home, let alone open the door to wipe down the tables and sweep out all of the dirt and leaves from outside. Okay, I widely underestimated the mess that'd been created in my recent rush to stay away from the apartment at all costs. I'd been throwing clothes, those that'd been recovered from the Ark crash anyway, all over our couch (recovered from a bunk) and tracking mud onto the floor. I wasn't the only person that was capable of fucking cleaning though and one day Bellamy would have to learn that his boots needed to be taken off before he smeared blood and whatever else clung to his feet across the floor.

I wasn't staring at the mess, though—not really. I was glaring at _her. _The beautiful half-naked girl that sat idly on my couch. Seeing her long tan legs dangling over my furniture as if it were her own caused my breathing, which I'd been choking on for the majority of the day, fail me completely. I felt worthless and suddenly ugly compared to her. I've never felt ugly a day in my life.

He emerged from _our _bedroom with a smirk on his face, which quickly turned into a more somber look at the sight of me. A part of me wanted to scream at him, for him to feel the level of betrayal I was feeling because it stung. There'd always been a line, a perfect little line of boundaries between us. How was I supposed to raise a child in this?

Of all the moments to be struck with the sudden realization that I wasn't going to abort the pregnancy—it was this moment. It couldn't be the day before when the sun was beaming down on me and it couldn't be the month before when I discovered I was pregnant. No—it had to be the moment I caught some bitch in my apartment with _my husband. _

The familiar apologetic glow in his eyes was directed towards me as he motioned his head for the girl to leave. She grabbed her clothes, going around me to leave. I opened my mouth to speak but I was at a loss for the right words. I wanted him to know how disappointed I was but maybe it was written across my features. I wanted him to know that this hurt and I never expected for him to take it this far. He stepped forward and I stepped back—he was used to that move. "I'm sorry she was here." He said sincerely, "I didn't mean for you to see her."

"Discreet isn't exactly your middle name." I managed a fake smile and began picking up the clothes off the floor and everywhere else. "You could have least given me time to clean the place before you brought one of your sluts to the bed where we have sex, but it's no big deal." The sarcasm in my voice was at a record high as I busied myself.

I circled through the "kitchen" area that only had a counter and two cabinets. I used the cabinets for excess medical storage because it wasn't like we had immense amounts of food to store in them—we didn't even have dishes. "You said you were okay with it."

"I said I was okay with—you know, it's not even worth the fight." Clarke shook her head, "It's stupid, really. Sorry to ruin your afternoon."

"Why are you home anyway?"

"Because it's a mess in here. Who do you think cleans, the fucking invisible maid?" I shot back at him and slammed my fist into the counter. "No, actually, I'm tired of your sister feeling bad for me because you're off sleeping with whoever you want. I wasn't going to sit around while she got all teary eyed and explained that our agreement to see other people is stupid."

He ran a helpless hand through his hair as he adverted his eyes to the floor. I wondered slightly why he felt shame for something I pushed him to do. "What are you saying, Clarke?" it was the usual sigh of defeat that escaped his lips as he looked at me. Any marriage argument usually ended this way. "I don't know how to make you happy."

"We didn't get married to be happy. If you've found it, lucky you." I said softly, "I don't appreciate her being here, that's all. It's not what I want to walk in on."

He nodded, "I understand."

"We need to stabilize rations." I changed the subject to something I actually felt comfortable talking about.

He didn't seem to want to change the subject, "That's all you're going to say? I know you better than that. Your words and your facial features contradict each other. What's on your mind?"

"You care?"

"You know I do." He moved the single chair from the counter and took a seat in it. He placed a hand over my fist and I completely lost it like never before. I usually save the waterworks for the empty walls and I imagine he was thrown off guard by my sudden burst. "Clarke…what's wrong?" He sounded concerned as he squeezed my hand tighter. I shook my head back and forth as I tried to contain myself.

I choked on the sobs I hadn't known I was holding in, "I'm pregnant, Bellamy." It wasn't until the words had fallen from my tongue that I knew I had to tell him.

He sat unnaturally still, obviously not knowing what to do. "With my child?" I scoffed, hitting the tears with my thumb—willing them to cease. I didn't blame him for asking the question because I knew he was under the impression that I was extremely discreet with my own affairs. I have no idea where he got that from but it was an assumption that he'd had the entire time he was sleeping around—I just didn't have the heart to correct him.

"You're the only person it could be." I said quietly, having to repeat myself when he prompted me to speak louder. My confession was a shock to him—not that I was pregnant—that he was my only sexual partner. It probably had more to do with the fact that he couldn't make the same claim. "I'm not just saying that because it would help you sleep at night, either. If I have this baby, there wouldn't be any surprises. I've been faithful." I wouldn't have said the last part if I was using my right mind, but I wasn't. I was rambling because I was scared. I didn't want him to stand up and walk away from me. I didn't want him to be suspicious.

"So I really am the jackass my sister thinks I am? Running around on my pregnant wife…" He mumbled as he put his face in his hands. I recognized it as his deep thinking position. I started to move around the apartment again, throwing clothes into a pile so I would remember to wash them. I went into the hall closet and pulled out a broom that Jasper made from genetically altered pine needles and a carved wood handle. "Clarke stop cleaning."

"It's a mess around here." I said, looking over at him only to find his brown eyes glued to me. "I've been procrastinating long enough. We're about to get condemned as the grossest married couple in the camp."

"What did you mean if you have this baby?" Bellamy asked, his voice quiet and calm.

"Seeing as an hour ago I was trying to kill it I thought _if _was a good word choice." His face fell at my words like I punched him in the face. "But I can't bring myself to do it." I rarely got to see Bellamy cry, but when he did it was with his whole body. I sighed, bringing the broom handle to my lips before I addressed his tears. "You don't love me, Bellamy. It's hard enough to raise a child when two people are in a good marriage, it's even harder when they're not."

"But you've decided to keep the baby?" Bellamy questioned, "The abortion attempts are over…you attempted to kill our child without even telling me about it?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Bellamy. There's a lot of shit you don't tell me about. Why would I want to bring a child into this world, huh? So someone can stay at home with me while you run off with god knows who or what? It is a struggle every day…a baby is only going to make it worse."

"The second you say commit, I'd do it. I've never told you differently. It was your idea, Clarke. You told me that I should find someone else…do you hate me that much, is that what it is?"

"Don't be foolish, you know I love you." I met his eyes when I said, making sure he knew that I meant it. I exhaled, "Like I said, if I could bring myself to do it—it'd be done. I wouldn't be pregnant because the practical part of me knows how risky this is going to be. Winter is going to be hell."

"You sound like my mother…and she had Octavia anyway." Bellamy said, "Octavia is by far the best thing she ever did and she was a prostitute, Clarke. You've already saved forty-six people—" _Harper… _"—helped set up a great society. You married an asshole like me to keep the grounders at bay…I think we can handle a baby."

I put the broom down and walked over to him, pressing our foreheads together. "Seven months to go until we put your theory to test."

"So, you're 12 weeks pregnant because pregnancies are ten months, not nine months." I nodded, rubbing our foreheads together. "Are you showing?"

"Not noticeably." I replied. His hands drifted to the hem of my shirt and I felt the chill of his cold fingers moving up my skin to the pouch I've been trying to conceal. His thumbs traced over it, massaging my skin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"Why not? I've upset you."

"You always do what you think you have to do, Clarke. It what I love about you…but you don't have to make every choice alone." He shook his head, "Especially not now. I'm going to be better for you."

"I'm not asking you to change."

"You don't have to."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

**Bellamy**

I watched her bare body rise and fall next to me and something settled within my chest. It was something primal, something that could be traced back to the beginnings of time: Pride. The woman I'd been sharing a bed with for the better part of a year was pregnant with my child and I couldn't be more elated or more terrified at the thought.

Seconds before the words fell from her mouth, I could have sworn she was going to tell me she wanted a divorce. The worst part is, I've been waiting for the words for a long time. I half expected them to follow our vows to protect one another and to love one another for all eternity. I expected them more after our first night as "husband and wife" and I w_anted _her to _demand _a divorce after I started my affairs with other women. Miller claims that I started my affairs to get a divorce and that I have serious mental issues if I think that Clarke would ever leave me because I was doing something she said was okay. Murphy informed me that the only woman _okay_ with a man cheating on her, was a woman that was cheating on her man.

Murphy was a fucking idiot.

But I was more of an idiot to listening to a fucking idiot like Murphy—someone I doubted had ever been in a serious relationship let alone felt the amount of love I feel for Clarke. It's difficult loving someone that has closed their heart off to any emotion that could cause eventual pain—it's even more difficult loving someone that constantly sees blood on their hands and sacrifices in their future. It wounded me to know that Clarke had all intentions of ending our child's life…shocked me, even. The mother is usually attached to the child during the pregnancy, typically, it's the father that doesn't create a _deep _connection until after her birth but Clarke is far from typical. I guess I couldn't say she wasn't attached—she decided to keep the baby, didn't she? That meant something, somewhere although she looked far from glowing with life.

I wanted to know what she was thinking, though. I wanted to know where her mind had gone for the last three months. When did she find out she was pregnant? What was her first reaction? How long did it take her to decide that she wanted to abort it? Why was she so sure of that option rather than keeping it? And most importantly, where the hell was I? I've been trying to figure out _how _I didn't notice it. I knew how to read her every expression, I knew when she was sad and when she was happy and when she was scared…I knew these things but how the hell didn't I know that my wife was pregnant?

My wife.

Over the last few hours we'd redefined that word a few times. At first, it was my _wife _the girl that would never love me but I would always love. My _wife, _the one that was glaring at my mistress. My pregnant, beautiful _wife…_and finally, it was my _wife_ screaming my name into the walls of our apartment as passion and my own personal celebration took over every other feeling. Clarke was as passionate about sex as she was about anything—she was also a perfectionist which made it all the better.

It'd spent many nights watching her sleep—I've also spent many nights pretending to be asleep while she did the same. We never talked about it. In my mission to destroy our marriage, I found it impossible to bring up something that would hint that she _actually _had feelings for me despite her protests and constant denial. I never wanted to break her heart but I'd convinced myself that it was inevitable if I was going to set her free.

Clarke didn't know it yet, but she deserved a happy marriage with someone she loved and she deserved a blonde haired, blue eyed family with whoever she _chose _to marry not the person she _had _to marry to appease a temperamental grounder. I may be fooling myself into thinking that we can be happy—but some people fall in love with the people they are arranged to marry. I just happened to love Clarke before we were married, is all.

If she had feelings for me—if there was a hint of romantic love in her walled off heart, I would take it because I am selfish. I've tried the "letting her go" path and she looked at me, she cried and told me she was pregnant. How could I let her go after that when I was getting everything I ever wanted by _accident? _It was like a sign from a higher power although Clarke swore god didn't exist. One night after we got married, she confessed her lack of religion to me. _"God doesn't exist, Bellamy…if God exists, how could he let people destroy what he built? If God exist…how could he let people manipulate his word to justify slavery, prejudice, racism and all those other awful things?" _She followed up with believing in an afterlife though so I don't exactly know where her faith stands.

She turned in her sleep, rolling onto my chest like a hard slap against my skin. Her cheek nuzzled my skin while she found comfort. "I love you, Clarke." I played with her hair as she slept.

Her lips vibrated my confession in her own voice, "I love you."


End file.
